Fever
by Explorer08
Summary: When Jason endangers his health who will he reach for? Will the terrors drive him mad, or will he accept the help he desperately needs? (Rated T because Jason is... well he's Jason. Some mention of cuddles and fluff, although not too much. No slash!) One-Shot


*****B*****

 **Big thanks to Cocofoshosho for being an amazing BETA! This is just a little Batfam oneshot that I spit out late one night, and it has been sitting around for months, waiting to be finished. Hope you all like it!**

 **I own nothing. All canon Batman characters/events belong to DC.**

 *****B*****

Wind howls through abandoned streets as a blizzard moves into Gotham, turning a chilly Friday evening into a total Jack Frost shitfest. Grumbling, I cross my arms in an attempt to preserve any remaining body heat within my leather jacket. Kevlar might be bullet-proof, but it's by no means warm on a wintery night in Gotham. I shiver as more snow meets the nape of my partially exposed neck, melting on contact and running down my back. Despite the blinding weather and below freezing temperatures, I keep my eyes trained on the warehouse below me –watching intently for any movement from Penguin or his goons.

Although his downtown club is legal, the Vertigo that Penguin was bringing in from Star City –and distributing to the young regulars– was not. I'm not sure how long Penguin has been doing business with the Count, but I'm going to make sure it ends tonight. Suddenly, the crunch of boots sounds behind me. I turn, 9mm in hand and body tense.

"Whoa!" Nightwing raises his hands and I lower the gun, frowning under my helmet before turning back to the warehouse. "Any movement yet?" he asks, kneeling beside me.

I shake my head, "No, but my intel said that it was going down tonight so I'm going to wait them out. I want Vertigo off the streets just as much as you guys."

Nightwing rolls his eyes at me. "Penguin cutting in on your drug runners?"

Turning to face him, I grab his collar and pull him close. "No! Because the bastard is getting it to the kids in his clubs and his runners have been hitting up the school yards. I have a deal with the drug lords: no dealing to children!" I roughly shove him, my hand still holding the front of his costume. "Penguin has crossed that line too many times and he has to be stopped."

"Sorry," Nightwing apologizes, a hand landing on my arm and gently pushing it down. He turns and settles down beside me, holding up his binoculars to get another look. "I didn't mean that," he murmurs, "about your reason for being out tonight. I know you have a code." I nod, preferring to actually accept his forlorn apology than to argue about how I don't want his sympathy. At this point, I'm too tired to actually fight with him anyway.

I'm not sure how long we sit there freezing our asses off, but eventually Nightwing nudges me and stands. "Hood, it's nearly five in the morning. I think your intel was off, but I'll look into it," he says.

"Yeah, fine. Just let me know if you find anything," I grumble. As I move to stand a wave of dizziness passes over me and I stumble momentarily. I reach out to brace myself and find my hand gripping Nightwing's arm.

"Whoa! Hey, you okay?" he asks. I nod, shaking my head a bit in an attempt to gain my bearings.

"I'm fine," I snap, standing straight. "Call me if you learn anything useful." With that, I shoot off a line and leap from the roof. My com-link beeps in my ear and I roll my eyes –choosing to ignore the call.

When I make it back to my apartment, my fingers are shaking with cold –though I still manage to crawl through the window of my kitchen, my heavy boots squeaking as I hit the laminate floor. My head has already started pounding as I make my way to the shower. The process of stripping away the cold Kevlar suit is slow going, as the damp material clings to my skin.

Steam quickly fills the chilly bathroom as I finally stand under the scalding spray. Thoughts drifting, I hurriedly scrub at my skin. I feel another wave of vertigo wash over me and I throw a hand against the wall of the shower to brace myself, spots dancing in my vision for a moment. When I'm stable once again, I turn off the water and grab my towel, quickly drying off. I walk to my room and grab a pair of sweats and a thermal shirt from my dresser, thankful for the warmth they provide as I finally flop into bed and curl up beneath my red comforter.

***B***

As I wake, I can feel sweat pouring off my body; my sheets are nearly soaked through and it's hard to breathe through the searing heat that rolls through me. Gasping, I crawl from my bed to stumble into the bathroom. I strip my clothes away and manage to get in the shower –the knowledge that a dousing with cold water will help reduce my fever bringing little comfort as I shiver under the chilled cascade. My body shudders violently and my vision begins to waver.

Knowing that I should probably call Dick before I crack my skull open on the floor of my own apartment, I try to regain control of my shaking frame and stagger out of the shower. I slowly dry off and slip into a clean set of sweatpants and another thermal shirt –avoiding any sudden movements for fear that my pounding head might actually explode. The laminate floor is icy under my feet as I blunder my way to the kitchen, and just as I reach for my phone, the world starts to swirl around me. My fingers fumble on the buttons as I dial Dick's phone, but I sway dangerously. White knuckled, I grasp the countertop as I start to fall, managing to lower myself to the floor and avoid cracking my skull open.

My head leans heavily against the cabinet, but I fight off the blackness that threatens to overtake me –forcing myself to keep a hold on the phone as it continues to ring. Finally, the ringing stops.

"Hi, you've reached the voicemail of Dick Grayson. I can't come to the phone right now, but leave me a message and I'll call you back soon!" The recording of Dick's voice sounds distant and I know I'm losing my grasp on consciousness. I manage to make my fingers dial a second number, praying all the while that someone answers.

"Jason?"

"Ngh...need help…." I'm slurring as I speak, and I hope he hears me. My arm gives out and the phone clatters across the floor, Bruce's voice echoing from the speaker:

"Jason! Jason, answer me!"

The last thing I know is pain as I hit the floor and blackness overtakes me.

***B***

My eyes shoot open and I gasp for breath. The smell of musty wood and wet earth assaults me. I can tell I'm lying down and raise a hand to feel what's above me. As my hand touches a soft velvety fabric, my mind shoots into overdrive.

 _I'm back in my coffin. They've buried me alive!_

Tears immediately spring forth in my eyes as I start to panic. I pull at the cloth, ripping through it and starting to tear at the wood beneath it. My breath comes in painful gasps.

"Help!" I manage to scream. Blood has begun to flow from my fingertips as I rip away nails and skin, still clawing at the wood. "BRUCE!" I scream his name over and over again, ignoring the pain that is radiating through my raw throat.

"Jason!"

I gasp, flinching as white light assaults my eyes. I glance around feverishly and quickly realize that I'm in the med bay in the Batcave. My vision is still blurry as I look up at the figure that stands over my bed.

"Bruce," I rasp, reaching for him weakly. A hoarse cough escapes my throat and I cringe at the pain the action causes. Tears are still leaking from my tired eyes and I shudder, coughing again.

"Jason, you're safe. You're in the cave," Bruce's voice floats towards my ears and I feel him grip my searching hand in his own. Before I can feel relieved, I'm pulled back under.

***B***

This time when I open my eyes, I'm standing in the Batcave. I see nothing but blood everywhere I look. My hands are covered in the stuff and I wipe at it furiously. Crimson stained gloves are quickly removed and thrown to the ground as I stumble away. Head pounding and lungs fighting for air, I take off at a sprint up the stairs that lead to the library.

I run through the manor, checking each room and yelling for someone –anyone– to answer me. Finally, I reach Bruce's room. The door creaks open. I see the shadowed form of Bruce standing before me, his shirtfront soaked in blood.

"What have you done?" he asks. His voice is empty –soulless. "You're a monster –nothing but a mistake that I didn't take care of –and now you've gone and murdered them."

I shake my head furiously. "No," I cry, "I would never do that!"

"But you did," he whispers. "You killed everyone you ever cared about."

Sobs issue painfully from my chest as I scream out, "No!" My body starts to move, seemingly under the control of something other than my own mind. My hand grasps a knife from my belt and my legs carry me shakily towards the shadowy form of Bruce. I scream as my arm raises, poised to drive the knife straight into his chest.

"JASON!" Bruce's voice thunders from somewhere I can't see. "Wake up!"

I clench my eyes, willing myself towards his voice.

"Jason, you have to open your eyes!"

I do. Bruce stands on one side of my bed, leaning over me with genuine fear seemingly etched into his face.

"Bruce," I manage. My voice is gone and my throat is so raw that I can scarcely breathe without it burning. He sighs, realizing that I'm mostly lucid once again.

I cry, the tears escaping before I can stop them. "Hey," he breathes, "you're safe. It's alright, you're safe." Slowly I nod, wincing at the way my head pounds and my body aches. I focus on him for a few moment, fighting to control my breathing as my chest hitches. Suddenly I'm coughing, my lungs refusing to hold air.

Without hesitating Bruce pulls me to sit up and grabs the oxygen mask, holding it over my face as I lean against him. Oxygen forces its way into my wheezing lungs and my cough begins to dissipate. Alfred and Dick are in the background asking if I'm okay. Weakly, I lift one hand and clench Bruce's shirt in my fist –almost afraid that he'll disappear and I'll drift back into my hallucinations.

His arms are wrapped around me protectively, holding me to his broad chest as I recover. "Do you remember what happened?" he finally asks. I shake my head a bit. "Well," he begins to explain, "you and Dick sat on that rooftop for a few hours in the snow –watching for Penguin's Vertigo shipment." I nod, slowly remembering.

"You must've gotten sick then, because a few hours later you called Dick, and then me. I found you passed out on the floor in your kitchen, and you've been delirious with fever ever since. That was two days ago," he finishes. Despite the continuing pain that radiates through my skull, I nod and look up at him blearily –attempting to speak.

"M'room," I mumble. He raises an eyebrow at me, puzzled for a moment. I see realization flash over his face though and he nods. His chest vibrates as he says something to Alfred and Dick, and within moments Alfred is beside us, holding my I.V. drip in his gloved hands. Dick gently removes the oxygen mask from my face, telling Bruce that he'll head up and hook up the oxygen upstairs. Bruce hefts me into his arms and we head towards the elevator.

 _Thank God for Batcave renovations!_

Bruce is strong, but the journey up the old steps would have been impossible while carrying me. He holds me steady, though, as we take the elevator to the second floor of the manor and proceed to my room. I can already tell that Alfred has been keeping the space clean –despite my less than frequent visits– as the scents of detergent and lemon dusting spray drift through the air. Soft grey sheets fold around me as Bruce places me in my bed, pulling the covers up to my chin and moving my arm to lay on top of the comforter –easy access for when Alfred checks my I.V. hookup.

The light sound of shuffling feet makes me turn my head towards the door. Tim and Damian watch silently as Dick finishes hooking up the mask to the oxygen tank in my room, their eyes following his every move until he places the mask's elastic strap over my head. I take a generous breath. My lungs are immediately thankful for the vital air and the pain in my chest seems to lessen. Tim's gaze is filled with worry and I know it's probably eating him up inside.

"Are you comfortable?" My head turns towards Bruce and I manage a nod. "Okay," he says, "we'll be here if you need us." I nod again. Bruce and Dick quietly exit my room, Damian following close behind. Tim stays, leaning against the door frame as Alfred checks my I.V. line one last time before heading downstairs. My movements shaky, I pull my I.V.–free arm from under the covers and raise a hand to beckon Tim forward. He immediately comes to stand by the side of the bed. Weakly, I pat the empty space beside me. Eyes flashing with understanding, he lies down and curls up next to me. I place my free arm over his shoulders and pull him into my side, his head coming to rest on my shoulder.

"I'm okay," I rasp, closing my eyes. "Promise." I feel him nod a bit and curl closer into me, wrapping a lanky arm around my stomach. Sleep returns to me as I listen to the steady sound of our breathing.

***B***

Slivers of sunlight streams between the curtains, lightening my shadowy room. Still curled against me, Tim is gazing up at me. His gentle blue eyes are curious and I smirk.

"I'm okay," I say hoarsely. My head, though throbbing lightly, is no longer filled with a feverish haze. "Would you go get Bruce though?"

Immediately on his feet, he silently nods and heads out the door. I roll my eyes at his rush, but don't mention it as he returns with Bruce in tow. The older man walks over, his face more relaxed than it had been the night before.

"Thanks," I murmur before he can speak, "for saving my ass. You didn't have to do that." Deep blue eyes seem to drill into me and I look away. "I should have been paying more attention to the situation."

"Jason, don't ever tell me I don't have to save you. You're my son."

I whip my gaze back to him, eyes burning with sudden tears. I hold them back, determined not to become a blubbering fool in front of anyone.

 _Dammit, stop crying like a damned girly girl._

"You will always have a home with us," he continues, "whether you're here permanently or part-time. You will always have this family to back you up."

I can only sit there, taking in his words. Finally, I'm forced to clench my eyes shut and look away –still fighting the wetness stinging my eyes. A hand grasps my shoulder, pulling me up and into the solidness that is Bruce's chest. Face buried in his shoulder, I wrap my free arm around him and clasp his shirt tightly in my hand.

"Thanks," I whisper into his chest. His arms hold me tightly to his chest as I fight to control my emotions. Eventually, I sit back and gaze up at him. "Can I go downstairs?" I ask quietly.

A small smile comes to his face and he nods, turning to Tim and asking him to grab me a pair of sweats. I realize that I'm dressed only in my boxers and move to swing my legs over the edge of the bed. As Bruce kneels to help me slip my legs into the newly acquired pants, I gently remove my I.V. and press a few fingers to the vein, making sure to fold my arm tightly around the digits.

"Jason," he grumbles, "you should have left that in."

"Bruce," I groan roughly, "I hate needles. I'm not going to walk around with one stuck up my arm if I can help it." He sighs, acknowledging defeat. I flush a bit as he pulls the sweats up for me. After he steps back –as well as makes sure I'm not bleeding from my previously pierced vein– I adjust the plain grey sweat pants to rest comfortably on my hips.

I grumble a bit about losing weight, but they ignore me and we head for the stairs, my body obviously moving slower than usual. The stairs seem to be a mile long and I have stop half way down, gripping the railing in an attempt to steady myself. My vision wavers and I feel a hand on my back, pressing lightly between my shoulder blades.

"Dizzy?" A groan is all I can respond with as Bruce stands close. Slowly, he raises my arm over his shoulder. The remainder of the journey down the staircase seems shorter and I'm soon at the base –albeit still a bit light-headed and leaning on Bruce. Laughter echoes from the kitchen and I raise my head, quickly regretting the sudden movement.

"What was _that_?" I rasp, pinching the bridge of my nose to stave off the newest wave of vertigo.

" _It_ has learned to laugh –at least when Dick is in the room. I'm pretty sure he threatened to send Damian to emotion therapy for a while as blackmail, though," Tim murmurs.

A silencing glare from Bruce causes me to choke back my reply and Tim shuts his mouth. Another laugh issued from the kitchen –this time sounding deeper and more good-humored.

 _Dick._ _Always a damned giggle box._

By the time we step into the kitchen, Alfred is dishing out pancakes and Dick is teasing Damian. "Awe come on Dami, don't you want to go with me?"

"Grayson, for the last time, I do not wish to visit the zoo with you and Gordon! I've refrained from killing you thus far, but if you continue to pester me I will change that." Damian crosses his arms indignantly, looking heatedly at Dick –who is still smiling like a fool.

"Damian," Bruce warns. The youngest looks up at his father, the lines of frustration leaving his face.

"Ah, Father. Please inform Grayson that I will not be going to the zoo with him on Thursday."

Bruce look at Dick, smirking. "He's right," he begins. Damian smiles triumphantly, but I can tell his bubble is about to be popped. "We'll _all_ go to the zoo on Thursday."

The sound of Damian's jaw dropping can probably be heard in China and I can't stop the hoarse laugh that escapes my still-raw throat. Dick jumps to his feet as he notices me standing behind Bruce, rushing to grab my into a bone crushing hug.

"Dick, I can't breathe with you hugging me like a teenage girl," I gasp. Immediately he lets me go. I sway a bit and he pulls me to a chair before I can fall.

"Sorry, Jaybird," he says, sitting beside me. I roll my eyes at the guilt on his face, punching him lightly in the arm and grabbing a fork as Alfred places a plate of pancakes before me.

 _Mmmmm! Strawberries_ _ **and**_ _whipped cream. Alfred is definitely trying to bribe me into staying._

"Shut up," I tell him, "I've lived through worse."

"Yeah," Dick murmurs, "and I'm sorry. I also owe you an apology about Friday night. I should've noticed you weren't feeling up to par."

I glare at him, albeit mildly. "Look, shut up means _shut up_. Stop throwing a pity party, I'm fine."

Dick nods at me, the corners of his mouth turning up a bit. "Missed you too, Jaybird," he murmurs before digging into his chocolate chip pancakes.

 _Chocolate chips? Now Alfred is the one being bribed._

Choosing to momentarily ignore Alfred's sudden lax opinion on healthy breakfast foods, I glance at Bruce. He sits at the head of the kitchen table, coffee in one hand and a newspaper in the other. Last night's worry lines have disappeared from his face, and his mouth is almost smiling. Tim and Damian join us at the table, each of them plowing into their pancake flavor of choice –peach for Tim and blueberry for Damian.

I'm not sure what it is about these people, but for some reason we always manage to keep each other alive. A butler that serves as pseudo-mother, stand-in doctor when Leslie wasn't available, chef, maid, grandfather, and confidant seems to be a major factor. Even with Alfie's stellar credentials, however, I don't think I'd trade any of them.

 *****B*****

 **PS: Thanks for reading! Feel free to leave a review, but please be respectful.**

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